


An Aristocracy of Love

by hangingfire



Category: The Elric Saga - Michael Moorcock
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-12-23
Updated: 2008-12-23
Packaged: 2018-01-25 08:28:06
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,111
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1641452
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hangingfire/pseuds/hangingfire
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Zarozinia regards Elric and thinks on their life together. A rare moment of peace for the doomed albino and his lovely bride, on the eve of the events of "Stormbringer".</p>
            </blockquote>





	An Aristocracy of Love

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to: scribblemoose, for requesting Elric and offering the most enjoyable challenge of writing a happy Elric; innocentsmith for the beta and for putting up with my "why is there no Moorcock in Yuletide" whinging for the last several months; and numb3r_5ev3n for the beta and for being an awesome fellow-traveller in the Moorcock fandom.
> 
> Written for scribblemoose

 

 

> _There is an aristocracy of love_  
>  Rare than chemicals—slow in its golden  
>  Measures; like deep waters; heard with sight  
>  And seen with hearing.  
>  —Mervyn Peake

The hour was late, and though the lady Zarozinia did not like to disturb her husband at his studies, she felt certain that if she did not, he would forget to sleep. She put away her embroidery and made her noiseless way down the hall to the library. Just as she suspected, he was so engrossed in the newest manuscript he had received that he did not see or hear her when she opened the door.

Zarozinia did not go to Elric right away; instead, she stood in the doorway admiring the play of the lamplight and firelight on his milk-white skin and hair, and her heart swelled with love at the expression of absorption on his lean face. It was the look of a scholar who had never lost his taste for learning, so different from the hardened warrior who had saved her life and virtue in the Forest of Troos. She loved the warrior, admired him, feared him a little (though never so much as the sword he bore, another matter altogether), but she adored the intellectual and his gentle enthusiasms.

"I was thus in my youth," he had told her once when she spoke, hesitantly, of the changes in his demeanour. "I was happiest always in my father's great library, happiest when there was more lore to discover and philosophy to learn." He had smiled then and caressed her, drawing her close, and he said, "And to you, my darling, I owe the pleasure of discovering this wonder once again."

Their wedding, she knew, had hardly been met with unbridled enthusiasm in Karlaak. Zarozinia knew that what warmth her father Voashoon felt towards his notorious crimson-eyed son-in-law was almost entirely due to indebtedness for Zarozinia's life. Elric had accepted the situation with an equanimity that complemented Zarozinia's own stubborn passion; eventually, through dint of a peaceful life and Elric's scholarly gifts—increasingly respected by the elders of the town—their union was accepted. Many admired as well his fight against the Horde of Terarn Gashtek, which saved the city of Karlaak and many other great cities of the Young Kingdoms besides, and many spoke with wonder of how Elric had returned to the city on the back of one of the great Melnibonéan dragons, like a hero of old. But there had been an unhappy coda to that feat. Few had forgotten the sight and sound of the black runeblade Stormbringer screaming across the sky as it plunged of its own accord through the streets of Karlaak, terrifying all in its path as it returned to its place in the armoury of the city. There were dark mutterings; and only the fact of Elric's victory against the Horde salved the anxieties of most of the people of Karlaak.

Zarozinia shivered a little, in spite of the library's warmth, and Elric frowned slightly, still unaware of her presence, but seeming to respond unconsciously to her sudden unease. She remembered then another incident that had occurred while Elric was fighting Terarn Gashtek: the brief visit to Karlaak of a strange, grey-eyed woman with a pale, heart-shaped face, who sought Elric's home but who only seemed slightly disappointed when Zarozinia informed her—not a little coolly—that Elric was at war.

"Of course he is," the woman said wryly. "I should not have expected otherwise. But he is well, then? And you?"

"Why does this concern you?" Zarozinia said, giving the woman a sharp look. There was something in the stranger's voice and manner that aroused her suspicion and jealousy, and not for the first time, she wondered at what she did not know of her husband's past, and the things of which she had never asked.

The woman shrugged, unoffended. "Elric is an old ally of mine, and I have always wished him well. It pleases me, Lady Zarozinia, to hear as I have that he has found true peace with you." She smiled then with genuine warmth, and Zarozinia's suspicions flagged slightly. "You need not tell him that I have been here, but should you feel so inclined, let him know that Oone the Dreamthief wishes you and him both health and happiness. For as long as possible."

With that, the strange woman had left the city, leaving Zarozinia in her puzzlement. She had never told her husband of this visit, though she was uncertain of what stopped her tongue. Many concerns were pushed aside when Elric learned that Stormbringer, which he thought he had discarded for good, had returned to the city; and somehow the time to relate the tale of the visitor never seemed quite right. But in some moments of solitude, Zarozinia thought of the catch in the voice of Oone the Dreamthief as she spoke her last benediction, and a sense of foreboding twitched in her brain.

Thinking of this again, Zarozinia suddenly wanted Elric in her arms. Just as she was about to go to her husband and rouse him from his work, he took a deep breath, leaned back in his chair, and turned his head to see her in the doorway. His expression grew bright at the sight of her and he beckoned her closer. "Have you been there long, dearest?"

Zarozinia smiled and shook her head. "Long enough only to think further on our good fortune. Do your studies progress?"

"Magnificently. Would that I had known there was such scholarship in the Young Kingdoms, those many years ago." He slipped his arms around her waist and drew her down to sit on his lap. 

She glanced down at the manuscript on the desk, a phrase or sentence here and there catching her eye and sparking her curiosity. Were it not so late, she would have inquired further, but: "You must tell me more about it," she said. "But on the morrow, perhaps? Much longer and you'll still be here at cock-crow."

Elric kissed her. "You know me well, Zarozinia. Left to my own devices I should scarce remember to eat." He brushed her hair back from her forehead tenderly and let her rise and take his hands in hers.

"Someone has to teach you sense," she teased. "Come to bed, my lord. And by light of day we shall speak of all you've learned today."

And the Lady Zarozinia brought her lord to their bed of furs and silks, where after an interval they passed into sleep, heedless of the gathering storm in the distance, where dark clouds drew together and lightning split the sky. 

 


End file.
